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“It’s a custom-made one from a friend of mine in LA. He calls it FOCUS.”
“Yeah, well it’s c-c-rap, isn’t it?”
Darlene produced a pained laugh.
“C-c-can you open up the p-p-program for me?”
Darlene shrugged. “Okay.” She brought up the appropriate screen, then offered her chair to Sam.
The screen filled with symbols and lines of computer code.
“I’ll c-c-clone this first,” Sam said. “As a b-b-backup.” He tapped at the keyboard with lightning speed. Darlene watched as the algorithms and rows of letters and numbers shifted subtly. Sam paused for a second, peered at the screen, then his staccato key-stabbing started up again.
Two minutes of concentrated effort and the visitor pushed back Darlene’s chair. “Th-th-that sh-sh-should do it,” he declared.
“What’ve you done?”
“B-b-boosted the r-r-response parameters, r-r-realigned the enhancement s-s-software to concentrate on th-th-the contrast and the w-w-warmth c-c-components.”
Darlene returned to her chair and clicked the mouse a couple of times to bring back the main screen. She opened the FOCUS software package, clicked on the image from the security camera and pressed “import”. A new screen opened showing a crisp, sharp image of two Asian men, the picture so clear you could almost make out individual pores.
“That’s incredible!”
“I-i-it is pretty c-c-cool, i-i-isn’t it?”
Darlene stood up. “I’m so sorry I ever doubted you.”
“No probs.” Software Sam looked a little embarrassed. “Oh! Almost forgot. M-M-Micky gave me these.” He held out a bunch of invitations. “H-h-half a dozen p-p-passes to his b-b-birthday bash tomorrow night at The V-V-Venue.”
Darlene was stunned. “Fantastic!” she said.
Chapter 67
I WAS STARING at the monitor on the desk in front of Darlene.
“That’s just amazing!” I exclaimed as the image of the two men who’d killed Ho Chang came up.
“I’d like to take credit for it,” Darlene said, “but it was Micky Stevens’ buddy, the guy they call Software Sam.”
“Yeah, Colette told me he’d been here – some sort of weirdo.”
“A genius more like. So what do we do now? We going to share this with the cops?”
I contemplated the image. “Oh, I don’t think so … not yet, anyway.”
Darlene gave me a quizzical look.
“If we do that,” I went on, “someone will blab, and these bastards …” I waved a hand at the monitor, “will vanish into thin air. No, this is ours, Darlene. At least for the moment. You been able to do anything with it?”
“I’ve tried. Spent all afternoon attempting to match up facial characteristics with databases all over the world. Not getting very far. Same old problem. The Triads bribe the authorities in Hong Kong so nothing’s on record. If there’s nothing on the two men, then the CIA, MI6, the Australian Intelligence Agency can’t get a handle on them. These guys have no DNA records, no fingerprint or photo presence at all. As far as the investigative agencies are concerned, they don’t exist.”
Chapter 68
I DIDN’T HAVE a problem with brothels, per se, but this one bothered me. They all stank of deceit and hypocrisy, but this one was smack bang in the middle of a wealthy suburb bordering Neutral Bay, where the Hewes lived. It seemed to me the locals at Loretto’s brothel might actually get off on the idea they were shitting on their own doorstep.
I’d made a booking through a website called “Kinkies” and chosen a girl, Ruthie.
The house stood in Chester Street off Military Road, the main highway running through the Lower North Shore. It was a totally nondescript building. I rang the bell and a woman in a business suit opened the door. I gave her the password I’d been sent online.
